"But, Rita, he isn't humorous, you know."
"He is. He has a sense of humour perfectly intelligible to those who understand it."
"Do you, dear?"
"Certainly … And I always have understood it."
"Oh, what kind of occult humour is it?"
"It is a quiet, cultivated, dignified sense of humour not uncommon in
New England, and not understood in New York."
Valerie nibbled her toast, secretly amused. Burleson was from Massachusetts. Rita was the daughter of a Massachusetts clergyman. No doubt they were fitted to understand each other.
It occurred to her, too, that John Burleson and Rita Tevis had always been on a friendly footing rather quieter and more serious than the usual gay and irresponsible relations maintained between two people under similar circumstances.
Sometimes she had noticed that when affairs became too frivolous and the scintillation of wit and epigram too rapid and continuous, John Burleson and Rita were very apt to edge out of the circle as though for mutual protection.
"You're not posing for John, are you, Rita?" she asked.